The Pansies
The beads we count, the words we speak,
The wrongs we commit, the deeds we perform,
Assume the shapes pleasing or shocking,
Of flames and fangs, or fruit palatable,
Or fragrant flowers scenting the breeze,
Become the agents soothing or tormenting.
High upward I was led the steps seven,
And strolled through the drooping tassels,
Overgrown, hanging laden with flowers,
Sheeting green the ground all around.
The route led then me to the plain vast,
Where I did see the nodding pansies,
Blossomed blue, yellow, pink and purple,
As myriad sucking butterflies sit still,
In the sun on the dewy grass of spring.
They all fluttered when the wind blew,
The spectrum of purity stretched
All around, but the yonder lands,
Beside the hillock were still drab,
Dull, unvegetated, yet to be made fertile,
And planted with more pansies.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Pansies (Novelinee)
Far away hidden in a secret grove
yellow, purple and black as the dark night
pansies grew to express someone's sweet love
and on my eyes there was a blessed sight,
a more fragrant picture I hardly knew,
suddenly life was lovely and strong
where a myriad of lovely flowers grew,
I heard some birds singing a happy song
and strange it felt as if I did belong.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Golden Shower! ! ! ! !
Scattered by the broken string, bent to pick the beads.
You stood with some in cupped hands, did you my thoughts read?
Led me gently to balcony, to show Laburnum bloom.
Clusters of bright yellow flowers watch them with awe, droop.
Yellow petals formed a carpet, underneath the tree
You said its called golden shower, from far one can see.
The breeze carries the flowers, away from the loose bunch,
Just like my beads got separated, and I sat hunched.
I forgot about my rosary, as we stepped in the avenue.
Your nearness and fragrant air, tears blurred the view.
Careful not to crush the blossoms, lying on the grass
We strolled hand in hand, exchanging a glance…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Can it be.. Flowers can Speak
Can it be…
Pansies are clairvoyant?
I had an uncanny feeling
On a bright sunny day
At the end of December,
When winter is at its peak,
As I went for a walk
In an immaculately
Laid out park.
I saw rows and rows
Of flower beds
With lush, velvety Pansies.
In hues and shades
As vibrant
As on the colour wheel
Nodding away
Their blotchy faces,
As I gypped my jacket
To protect myself
Against the icy wind.
Can it be…
They were mocking at me?
Winking and making monkey faces
To mimic my expressions?
Or is it just
Another hallucination
Of a schizophrenic?
Can it be..
Just a question
Of being on
The same wave length?
Can it be...
Flowers can speak
Sense and communicate
In silence
And have an
Innate intellect?
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Flowers for me.
Here, in the green field, yonder the sky is blue
Behind ‘Ramogi" sacred hills, I see it blue
I wade past the tall, spear like flowering grass
To, pink, red, and yellow, I pick the flowers
Up a tree I see two weaver birds building their nest
Flowers I sample, all alone, for me, I'll bring these to my nest.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Into The Last Month Of Winter
Into the last month of Winter and the wattles cloaked in yellow flowers in bloom
And pink flowers on the camellias and yellow flowers on the broom
And all through the night the white backed magpies sing
On the third week of August coming up to the Spring
On the third week of August in the Southern Hemisphere
One does have a sense that Spring is quite near
The paddocks and parklands are looking quite green
And fragile pink flowers on the fruit trees are seen
Into the third week of August and birds sing in the rain
And all through the night frogs sing in pond and drain
And in the calm of the night in the parkland nearby
The breeding spur wing plovers in their territory cry
And all through the night on the moonlit gum trees
The songs of the magpies carry in the breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Garden in my inner square
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural
and next to it there are flowers that only in the morning hour
spread their cups and spiral up against every side,
where it finds a holding place and grow hillock on hillock
over every thing with purple flowers that only last a short time.
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural,
where mountains tooth out blue in the background
and field after field of purple lavender bushes stand at the front
and there’s a shop owner sending his servants on bicycles around
and at the bottom in fruitful red sand
a vegetable garden was planted by me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My Drug Dealer
Today-
I asked myself.
Why are the oak tree’s purple?
And the grass blue?
Why is the sky green?
And the leaves hot pink?
Why is that gravel red?
And the rocks of that garden yellow?
Then I thought
and thought over again
a million times
and realized...
I’m high.
I’m up higher than the orange clouds in the green sky
My heart is as bright as the rocks of that garden
My thoughts are as eccentric as the hot pink color of the leaves
that fell from the purple tree
My eyelashes flutter flirtatiously like the way the wind
blows the blue blades of grass around.
Love is a drug,
and I’m high-
You happen to be my dealer.
poem by Breanna Schwartz
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Primrose
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!
It is not a color.
It is summer!
It is the wind on a willow,
the lap of waves, the shadow
under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,
three herons, a dead hawk
rotting on a pole--
Clear yellow!
It is a piece of blue paper
in the grass or a threecluster of
green walnuts swaying, children
playing croquet or one boy
fishing, a man
swinging his pink fists
as he walks--
It is ladysthumb, forget-me-nots
in the ditch, moss under
the flange of the carrail, the
wavy lines in split rock, a
great oaktree--
It is a disinclination to be
five red petals or a rose, it is
a cluster of birdsbreast flowers
on a red stem six feet high,
four open yellow petals
above sepals curled
backward into reverse spikes--
Tufts of purple grass spot the
green meadow and clouds the sky.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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A glimpse of spring
Now the spring comes with all its delight,
The plants are laden with colourful blossoms,
White, yellow, purple, blue, and red,
There intoxicating fragrance enthralls the mind
It seems somebody has opened the doors of Paradise
The earth is clad in green cloak
The sky watches her with delight
The birds sing pleasant notes
The bees buz round the flowers
To suck their juice
The butterflies fly with glee
Waiting for their turn
A fine breeze blows muttering the words of affection
The rivulet dance with joy and rapture
The hills, the valleys, and the cascades
All wear a new and beautiful look
The whole atmosphere is filled with rapture and I too.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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The Verdant Lands of Spring
(from the title of an NLP anthology) Spring rains begin, to refresh the land,
An' beautiful spring flowers begin, to make their stand,
Orange pink blue yellow and every pretty color,
Decorating the hillsides, in a truly rich splendor,
Making their appearance, after cold winter nights,
And the cold wind that to me, seemed really a fright,
Yet now everywhere, it's turning luscious green,
An' beautiful spring birds, will soon be seen,
Now sweet peas blue bonnet flowers an' daffodils,
Are coloring an' dotting the meadows an' hills,
An' springtime can last as long as it wills,
An' I'll never complain o' the fresh spring rains,
That refresh an' green up, the lovely hills an' plains,
An' meadows for sheep an' cattle an' stallions alike,
An' am getting myself ready, for a long fiel' hike,
An' there will be calves an' lambs, an' colts very soon,
And plenty of grass and plenty of room,
As the verdant lands of spring, burst into bloom.
poem by George Kick
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Dreamy Age
Remembering of the dreamy age,
Fills my eyes with tears,
The sights unpolluted and clear,
Now changed into smoky and full of noise,
Where I played with cheerful friends,
Whom ruthless tides have scattered,
As the wind disperses the dried leaves,
A slight before the dead winter,
Some went abroad, some to the Town of Silence
What a delight it was!
At noon under the blue skies,
Running after the butterflies,
Delicate and nicely-colourful,
Spoiling the mustard farms,
Blossomed yellow, sharply fragrant.
The indignant landlady cursed,
Chasing with a stick wet and long,
But we always were out of her access.
In the days of torrential rains,
Under the noses of flowing spouts,
We stood long, making a noise,
The lightening thundered scaring,
Made me afraid, as if we,
The shouting children interrupt.
The grand office of God.
Then for diving and swimming,
Ran to the pond nearby the village,
Beside the huge banyan tree,
What a delicious bat it was!
In the muddy opaque water.
Each delight of child-hood,
Is soul-sucking, worth-recalling,
When before the wintry nights,
Played we all girls and boys,
Out on the ploughed farms,
Hiding in ricks and heaps of fodder.
Under the waning moon,
Unaware to the thoughts obscene.
Often in the downy steeps,
In the deep recesses of thick forest,
Drank water from the trickling fountains,
Carefree, oblivious to woes and worries,
Spent days plucking the sweet berries,
From the thorny branches bending down,
Laden with ripe red fruit.
Sometimes on the rocky ground,
By the luck benevolent we found,
In the fragrant bushes honey wild,
While getting the comb down,
The incensed bees stung the cheeks,
Then returned home swollen faced,
And got chidings kind of the parents.
The intoxicant spring approached,
With thrilling spirit, refreshing hopes,
The soft, gentle breeze blew.
Made the village drowsy fragrant.
In the swaying crops, blooming fields,
Blossomed wild poppies flowering red,
And when we ran bare-footed,
After the fluffy lambs, on the dewy grass,
The birds sang sweet melodies,
Hovered in circles over the head,
Making us feel their presence.
In silence at the warm nights,
A mysterious sound of the distant lute,
Enchanted throwing me into ecstasies.
If the childhood be a commodity,
And I had the heap of gold,
And wealth countless and untold,
I would buy without bargain,
The dreamy age second time.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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How to make your wishes come true
She liked white and had not said a word yet
On her tenth birthday
she stood on the red steps
of the red opera house
-the red opera house on the north side of Sydney Harbour
almost opposite the white opera house
She scattered orange petals, yellow petals, green leaves and spoke
in a light blue voice
A bird of navy blue pink and gold feathers stood by her. Was this the grateful bird? Purple gold and white danced
She said
white stillness, pure gold, purple wonder, gold strength, pink joy, pink infinity, navy blue now, strong indigo blue, light blue fountain, the green first reason, compassionate orange, endless yellow,
royal red, single red, free orange, free yellow, green depth as clear as crystal, all attractive light blue, strong indigo blue, strong navy blue, pink wishes, gold compassion, compassionate purple,
gold of golds, of creativity, white of whites, gold truth, purple mentor, funny gold, pink friend of children, navy blue of nature,
indigo blue knowledge, light blue song of nature, green creation, yellow in senses, orange guide, red way, red inspirer, orange giver, yellow help, dazzling green, light blue of the delicate, with indigo blue eyes, navy blue good, with pink kind eyes, golden hair, golden complexion, purple complexion, gold warmth, of white space, white and gold love, of all purple knowledge, gold presence, pink in thunder and storms, navy blue pleasure, indigo blue beauty,
light blue lines, all attractive green, of yellow stirring music, of orange, red refuge, clear red, orange orange, yellow yellow, with green giving hands, of green, light blue truth, indigo blue essence, navy blue sparkle, pink with gold, purple guide, gold here, here white, white is the sun with penetrating vision, purple and golden constant winner, gold reach, of all pink, infinite navy blue, indigo blue knowledge, light blue care, deep green in greens, orange truth, dedicated to yellow, red peace, red glory, orange beauty, yellow, of green and light blue evenings, handsome indigo blue, intelligent navy blue, pink of pinks, of gold golds, purple purple, gold friend,
openness, formless white and gold, prevailing purple, efficient purple, purple origin, purple form, gold and permanent pink, navy blue belief, indigo blue blue, dense green, orange, yellow, red friend, red
and fell silent
Are the colours telling us that reciting the girl's words could make all our wishes come true? What else do red orange yellow green light blue indigo blue navy blue pink gold purple gold white know?
Today is a Monday
poem by Bhupen Thakker
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Carnations in the garden
There are carnations in the garden
in colours of ruby red,
pure white and blossom pink
and some pink with deep purple inside
and others purple-blue.
I smell the sweet fresh flowers
and look at colours
hue as if by magic
into each other.
Some grow in flowering pots,
some are planted in flowerbeds,
others even in the rock garden
and the flowers at places are mixed
to catch the eye
and everywhere there’s care
and a lot of love
that went into the tending of it.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Beautiful Azalea
The beautiful azalea is a woody shrub that never grows into a tree
But the pink flowers on the azalea are so beautiful to see
In the cool to warm days of October when Spring is in the air
And beautiful Mother Nature flowers on her green cloak wear,
How lovely the azalea in the cool shade of the trees
In her mass of pinkish flowers gently stirring in the breeze
Such a thing of natural beauty for to beautify the Spring
In the nice days of October when the nesting song birds sing,
In her tiny leaves of light green and her mass of bright pink flowers
The azalea she is blooming in the sunshine and Spring showers
But time it keeps on ticking and the years go quickly by
And how many more Octobers will i live for to enjoy?
The sight of the beautiful azalea in her pink flowers in the shade
A thing of such rare beauty by Nature only made.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Dying Child
He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.
His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.
Infants, the children of the spring!
How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?
He held his hands for daisies white,
And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
That in the green fields grew,
As childhood's sweet delight.
And then he shut his little eyes,
And flowers would notice not;
Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise,
He now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.
When winter came and blasts did sigh,
And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
His soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.
poem by John Clare
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Gulmohur in May
Oh! Behold
The bliss and beauty of May.
The warm sunbeams,
The sudden showers,
The husky wind,
Neither swift nor soft.
The verdure of shrubs
That put forth their buds
And their sweet fragrance
When opening their delicate folds.
Lo! That tree over the hedge,
The lone Gulmohur in full bloom
With flowers cluttered on every bough
And the honey bees, diving in and out.
A red canopy hung
Across the cyan sky!
A marvel of marvels
In the valley of green!
At the slight touch of the wind
It sheds its flowers,
That, like confetti over the blushing bride
Drop to the ground and lie in heaps.
Scarlet and deep orange, yellow and pink
Such shocking shades, blended so fine,
Turning the enveloping green
Into a splendid canvas of art!
poem by Valsa George
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Magic Of Forest
.Nature around me, leaves rustling in the wind,
Dewy green grass in mornings, under my steps,
To breathe deeply the fresh, pure air of forest i enjoy.
I listen the twitter of birds that i so much adore,
I love to walk along rivers,
Blossomed flowers to smell and admire.
I adore the forest, the marvelous trees,
I want to live there forever,
Till the end of my days.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Season-8
Ah
Spring of love flowers
Vasant
Green
Signals to flourish
Fertile
Waltz
Around flowers
Butterflies
Buzz
Bees and beetles
Honeysucklers
Paired
Couples ring the bell
Wedlock-season
poem by Indira Renganathan
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What Is Pink?
What is pink? a rose is pink
By the fountain's brink.
What is red? a poppy's red
In its barley bed.
What is blue? the sky is blue
Where the clouds float through.
What is white? a swan is white
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? pears are yellow,
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? the grass is green,
With small flowers between.
What is violet? clouds are violet
In the summer twilight.
What is orange? why, an orange,
Just an orange!
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Color
What is pink? a rose is pink
By a fountain's brink.
What is red? a poppy's red
In its barley bed.
What is blue? the sky is blue
Where the clouds float thro'.
What is white? a swan is white
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? pears are yellow,
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? the grass is green,
With small flowers between.
What is violet? clouds are violet
In the summer twilight.
What is orange? Why, an orange,
Just an orange!
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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